


Quarter After One

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a month since Leandra's death. Hawke is not okay. Fenris knows he's needed. It's his turn to be the strong one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quarter After One

**Author's Note:**

> I should have been writing something else, but that sad little Lady Antebellum song was on a Fenhawke mix I've been listening to and this is the result. It felt good to write these two again, even if it is a bit sad.

Fenris never slept soundly. Too many years of being ever ready for Danarius’s call followed by too many years on the run from that self same magister meant restful sleep was a fitful thing, ever dancing at arms length. Still, it had been a long, hard day and for once sleep came to him deep and long and quiet. 

It was so deep, in fact, that it took some time before Fenris came awake to the sound of someone hammering at his front door. Few even knew he lived in the dilapidated mansion. Any who might attack him would surely not have bothered to knock. And by the way the moonlight shined through the cracked roof, it was far too late for most of their band of misfits to be roaming the streets on their own. 

Either it was an emergency, or it was Hawke. As he rose and pulled a shirt and pants on, Fenris was not sure which he hoped it to be. Likely it was one in the same.

His grabbed his sword, still sheathed, and made his way to the front door, past the mushrooms and the bodies that had lain scattered throughout the grand hall long enough to stop stinking. His silent sentries.

The banging had faded to an occasional knock as Fenris roused himself and when he opened the door, there was little more than gentle tapping coming from the other side.

“Hawke?” he asked, seeing the man standing there, fist raised to knock on the door, head down and shoulders slumped.

“Almost gave up. Another minute and I would have left.” Hawke’s voice was little more than a whisper, a rasp from a throat cried raw. “Sorry for the hour. Thought you might… I don’t know what I thought really.”

There was a weight between them, just as there had been since Fenris had walked out in the early morning hours of their first night together. It was less painful now and Fenris hoped that one day soon Hawke would move on, find someone more suitable. Someone who could give him the life he deserved. 

But Hawke was proving resistant to Fenris’s private plans to make the man forget him. Hawke didn’t hate him, which would have made this all easier. In fact, Hawke had quietly, deviously, kept Fenris close by. Between reading lessons, running jobs down the Wounded Coast and nights at the Hanged Man, they spent more time together now than they had when they first started to fall… No, no use dwelling on what was never to be.

Fenris guided Hawke into the mansion, glancing outside to be sure all was quiet, for Hawke did not seem to be much aware of his surroundings. As Hawke stumbled over the threshold and huffed as he tripped, Fenris caught a whiff of liquor on his breath. He noted a sloshing bottle in the mage’s hand.

“That was no wine you’ve been drinking, Hawke.”

Hawke shook his head, loose like a rag doll. He was drunk, but this was not the ale-swilling happy-go-lucky drunk that was the Amell scion holding court at the Hanged Man. This was a darker kind of intoxication, one Fenris knew all too well.

“Nope. It’s harder stuff for harder times.”

Hawke slurred the words out and stumbled his way up the stairs, Fenris following behind to make sure he did not fall backwards and crack his skull open.

“Perhaps you’ve had enough for the evening?”

Fenris grabbed a cup from the table and filled it from the water bucket he had drawn earlier that evening. He passed it to Hawke who looked down at the cup, as if he was trying to remember what water was and how to drink it. 

The mage stared at the cup for some time and Fenris began to wonder if he had fallen asleep when he began to hear a quiet, ragged breathing coming from him. Hawke’s hand began to shake and Fenris took the cup back. As he turned from placing it back on the table, Hawke reached out and grabbed his hand. 

Had it been anyone else, had he been less aware, Fenris would have reacted harshly. But this was Hawke. Something about this man relaxed Fenris as no other could and over time he had grown used to Hawke’s casual intimacies. 

And yet, this was not casual or affectionate. This was a desperate grab. A moment later, Hawke was sobbing, head down so Fenris could not see his face.

“Hawke?”

“Nightmares, Fenris. All I have now are nightmares. My mother… Bethany… Father… all dead and I can’t get the sight of their bodies out of my head."

Fenris nodded, though Hawke could not see his reaction. Leandra was only gone a month and Hawke still carried much guilt, though all their friends agreed there was nothing more he could have done. 

“I understand, Hawke.” 

Hawke nodded, sniffling as he sat up a little straighter, finally looking up so the elf could see his face. Red-rimmed eyes gleamed in the lamplight and the mage’s skin looked ashen.

“I just… Fenris, I know I said I would give you all the space you wanted… I just…”

Hawke still clung to Fenris’s hand as if it were a life raft. He placed it against his face, as if it were a balm for the deep wound left by his loss and grief. Fenris said nothing, letting Hawke find his words through a drunk tongue and occasional sobs.

“It’s late and I’m drunk.” 

Fenris nodded, allowing his free hand to slowly reach toward Hawke’s forehead, brushing back a few strands of unruly hair.

“I need you Fenris, I need you near me. Just for tonight. I don’t mean what you think I mean. I just need to listen to someone I care deeply about breathing and talking and just… fuck… living. And I’m sorry.”

Hawke abruptly dropped Fenris’s hand, lifting the clear bottle of amber liquid once more to his lips. Once he had sipped, Fenris put a hand out and took the bottle from him. He took a long swig for himself, the liquor burning its way down his throat. If there was to be any rest for either of them tonight, they would need all the help they could get.

Could he do this? Could Fenris be that close with Hawke again? Could he be the strong one for Hawke, who had been so strong for him countless times? He quickly brushed the questions aside in the face of the mess of a man before him. 

Of course he could. This was, for better or for worse, the man he called his friend. They had been lovers, and the future on that front was still as grey as ever. But their friendship remained above all else. They fought together, bled together, made merry together. Fenris had learned what true loyalty and companionship meant because of Hawke. 

“Of course, Hawke. I am your friend before all else. I am here for you.”

Hawke shook then, his whole body shivering as some deep-rooted tension released itself like a snapped string.

They spoke a little then, chatting about minutiae as Fenris nudged Hawke into drinking a few glasses of water. Peeling a smart, green apple with his utility knife and pulling out a bit of cheese and a bit of hardtack, he managed to get the mage to eat a little something as well. 

Emotions and drink taking their toll at last, Hawke’s eyes began to droop. Fenris pulled him up from the bench and led him to the bed in the corner, his heart beating a little faster in his chest.

While Hawke had made sure Fenris was paid generously for their jobs, he had also made the effort to make the crumbling mansion more home-like for him. Over the course of a few months, Orana was sent to the markets occasionally for items and now, besides basic cooking implements, Fenris’s bed was covered with a well-ticked mattress and clean, sturdy, warm bedding. 

Almost beyond the capacity for language, Hawke was having trouble with his boots. Fenris knelt and pulled them off for him, then hesitated before standing back up. Their faces were close together, Hawke breathing gently, his mouth hanging open, eyes focused on Fenris. 

The elf felt a shiver go down his back. Part of him wanted more than anything to pull Hawke into him, kiss him, help him forget all the pain and grief and guilt he carried with him. But it was not their time, this was not the place, he was not ready, and he would not hurt Hawke like that again. 

With a deep breath to refocus himself, Fenris stood, bending over only to kiss Hawke’s forehead before stripping his pants back off. 

Hawke said nothing, pulling his shirt clumsily over his head and getting stuck there until Fenris freed him.

“This would be so much more romantic if I didn’t feel so terrible,” Hawke mumbled.

A small, sad smile quirked the corner of Fenris’s mouth.

“It would certainly be more entertaining as well,” he quipped, garnering a furrowed brow of frustration from Hawke as the man tried, and failed, to untie his trousers.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” Fenris sighed, all questions about their future set aside in the face of this helpless man before him. “Here, let me help.”

Hawke smiled and Fenris could tell he was only vaguely still conscious. 

“Untying my pants. Speaking pretty words. This could be the start of something kinky if I wasn’t so drunk.”

“Yes, Hawke.” Fenris shook his head. 

It was a good sign, that kind of sly comment. Whatever darkness that had followed Hawke here, it was dissipating as the sky began to shift from black to purple. Was it truly so late and so early?

The effort of care and his own share of drink left Fenris feeling the weight of sleep heavy upon him. Once Hawke was in just his small clothes, Fenris managed to get him under the covers. Coming around the other side of the bed, he was ready when Hawke turned towards him, a hand holding up the blankets so that he might slip in as well.

‘Just for tonight,’ he told himself. ‘I am his friend. He needs me. I can do this for him.’

He ignored the little voice inside that spoke of love and possibilities. It was late and it was early and they both needed rest. 

With a swallow, Fenris crawled under the covers and lay on his back. Hawke shifted, curling around him like a very large cat and placing his head on his chest. 

“Your heart is beating fast,” Hawke whispered, giving Fenris a squeeze. 

Fenris said nothing. There was nothing to say, really. They both knew why his heart sounded like a bird trying to escape a cage, but this was not the night to discuss such things. 

Hawke warmed the bed to a cozy temperature and Fenris felt him relax against his chest. Reaching with lyrium-inscribed fingers, Fenris ran his hand gently through Hawke’s hair until he began to hear the man gently snore, his breath coming smooth and easy.

As he, too, drifted off, Fenris knew they would wake here together in the morning. Hawke would be hung over and things between them may be more awkward for a time. But just for tonight, just for this soft and hazy moment, Fenris felt he had truly done something right for the first time in a long time.


End file.
